


Not His Anymore

by ThebanSacredBand



Category: Alexander (2004)
Genre: Alcohol, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Out of Character, Swearing, i wrote this 3 years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/pseuds/ThebanSacredBand
Summary: Hephaestion was trying not to watch the dancing, which was harder than one might think, considering that the stupid Persian was dancing right in front of Alexander. Bagoas’ dancing was erotic, and Hephaestion wasn’t saying that it wasn’t good. The thing that bothered him was simply the fact that he was dancing right in front of Alexander.





	Not His Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemainofthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/gifts).



> For context, this was last edited on 26/05/2016, and I just remembered it existed because I sat an exam about Alexander the Great. The characterisation of Hephaistion in this is absolutely the worst because my main source of information was the movie and the minimal research that baby me had done. I can only apologise :P

Hephaestion was trying not to watch the dancing, which was harder than one might think, considering that the stupid Persian was dancing right in front of Alexander. Bagoas’ dancing was erotic, and Hephaestion wasn’t saying that it wasn’t _good_. The thing that bothered him was simply the fact that he was _dancing right in front of Alexander_.

He tried to watch some of the other dancers, or even just the crowd, but he couldn’t draw his gaze away from the pretty eunuch and the king. He tried to catch Alexander’s eyes, but the king just seemed too absorbed with the spectacle in front of him. He was staring at Bagoas in a way that – Hephaestion’s heart plummeted. That was _his_ look, the look Alexander reserved for him and only him.

Except, apparently, not any more.

He felt something grip his arm, and turned to see Ptolemy frantically whispering, telling him not to react. He must have somehow noticed Hephaestion noticing – no. It was because a victor had been declared. And, of course, it was Bagoas. And he was being walked to sit beside the king. And the crowd was shouting at them to kiss. And Alexander was leaning forwards and…

Hephaestion was glad that he could hide his hands inside his tunic, so no-one would see how tightly his fists were clenched. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying. He wanted to leave. But Ptolemy was right. He was already hated by most of the men, for what he and Alexander had. If he showed how much it hurt him, well, that would only give them what they wanted.

 

It wasn’t until he returned to his tent at the end of the night that Hephaestion finally let the tears flow. He grabbed the nearest flask of wine, and drank deep.

Hephaestion had found it hard enough when Alexander had slept with his many mistresses; but at least, although he had been upset, he could lie to himself and say that the king was only doing as was expected of him. And, in truth, Hephaestion had never seen Alexander looking at any of them the way he looked at Hephaestion; the way he looked at Bagoas.

And it wasn’t as if Hephaestion hadn’t _known_ that Alexander had been sleeping with Bagoas lately. They hadn’t done anything obvious, but it had been rumoured around the camp. He had seen the looks the men had given him when they thought he wasn’t watching; he had heard the laughs and the snide comments that weren’t intended for his ears. They wouldn’t dare to say it to his face; he had too much authority, was too close to the king, but it didn’t stop them from gossiping to each-other.

Hephaestion had tried to ignore the comments, to pretend that _nothing_ was happening and that Bagoas had not been seen slipping in and out of Alexander’s tent in the evenings. Until today, no-one had _seen_ them together, so it had been easy enough to pretend that it wasn’t real. But after the tonight, Hephaestion knew that it would never go back to how it was.

He couldn’t help but think of all of the nights they had stayed up and Alexander had _promised_ him that, even though he would take a bride (or two, or three) it wouldn’t change anything, that it would still be Hephaestion and _only_ Hephaestion. And now it all counted for nothing; now the king had Bagoas, who was younger and prettier and…

Hephaestion pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to supress the loud sob that was building up in his throat. The walls of the tent were thin, and if any of the guards were to hear…

“General?”

Fuck.

Hephaestion wiped at his face, before realising there was no way he would be able to hide his eyes, reddened from crying. He turned to face the opposite way to the tent flap, hiding himself from everyone who would surely laugh at him. He took another large swig of wine.

“What do you want?” He tried to sound normal, as if he hadn’t been crying. He was fairly certain he had failed miserably. He heard whoever it was enter the tent, even though he hadn’t given them permission to. He could discipline them for that, except then he would have to turn and face them, and they would surely see his red eyes and cheeks.

“The king has requested that you meet with him in his tent.” He didn’t recognise the messenger’s voice – it wasn’t one of the normal guards of either Alexander or himself. It was young and high, with a Persian lilt to some of the –

Hephaestion’s shoulder tensed.

“Get out of my tent.” He didn’t even try to keep his voice civil.

“But, general, the king has…”

“Get OUT of my TENT, you fucking Persian WHORE.” Hephaestion spun on his heel, and, sure enough, there was Bagoas, wearing the same almost-nothing that he had been wearing at the dance, though Hephaestion was fairly certain that he had had to put it back on again, and the thought made him feel sick – or was that just the wine?

Hephaestion watched as Bagoas’ eyes widened with shock as he saw the state of him, his blotchy cheeks and reddened eyes. But almost immediately his eyes hardened again, just as a eunuch should, brought up not to react to whatever happened in a court. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hephaestion was past drunk, and he was sure as hell not finished.

“If you EVER come in here again I will KILL you. I will FUCKING KILL you.” He was shouting, but he shouldn’t be shouting, the tent walls were too thin, someone could hear.  He tried to drop his voice. “Get out of my sight. You have taken _everything_ from me; my pride, my honour, my…” Hephaestion’s voice broke off in a deep sob, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “My Xander. You’ve taken my Xander.”

Bagoas seemed to realise what had happened, why Hephaestion was broken, that he was drunk. He silently bowed his head, before turning to leave. Just before he ducked out of the tent flap, he glanced back around, his voice full of contempt, as scarcely concealed as Hephaestion’s own.

“You ought to know, it is ‘Phai’ he calls out when he beds me. I hope he gets control of it; I dread to think what his future wives might say.”

The empty flask crashed to the ground where Bagoas had been standing a moment before.

Hephaestion crumpled to the ground and wept.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [He Will Always Be Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529012) by [ThebanSacredBand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/pseuds/ThebanSacredBand)




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